


Betty and the Prisoner of Azkaban

by LadyWelsh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWelsh/pseuds/LadyWelsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betty's desire for a peaceful year at Hogwarts seems futile. From avoiding the eerie Dementors, fixing rocky friendships and balancing her school-work on top of everything - not all is sweet as pie when a mass murderer is on the loose. (No Slash/Mary-Sue).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betty and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 1.

A/N: So this idea has been in my head for a while and I've been really nervous that not many people will read it, since it's been done a lot before. And on another note – I am glad to say that Betty passed the Mary-Sue test with flying colours and is a realistic character.

Disclaimer: Ha, me, J.K Rowling? That's rich!

…..

Betty awoke with a jolt, and scrambled to remember what her dream was about. It was a nightmare, one that had a lasting effect and had instilled a fresh sense of fear and paranoia.

Shrugging off the unpleasant clench in her stomach it had caused like a tick that wouldn't leave, Betty kicked back her sweaty sheets, and swung her legs across her mattress until her feet touched the practically frozen floor.

She glanced at the vacant cage of her owl Brychan, who had not yet returned for three days. She didn't worry about him though, he had gone away longer before for many days and nights multiple times – he would appreciate the lengthened flight.

It was nearly midnight and Betty could not return to her slumber, so she tied on a white robe and sat, crouched on her window-sill and bathed in moonlight.

Betty was plain – with grey eyes and a pallid, pale complexion with a mass of short and light brown curls. She was chubby due to excessive eating and was short for her age. She had tried countless of skin-care remedies to produce a golden tan and went on numerous diets that didn't last long. Her passion for Quidditch was the root cause for her weight problem – she often skipped lunch to practice and was so hungry that she ate like a horse afterwards.

A loud screech followed by a hoot broke through the silence and her barn owl Brychan swooped forward, and Betty tore open the windows and moments later he tumbled in, landing in a heap of feathers on the floor-board.

Brychan was a grey, stubborn Barn Owl who thrived for attention and was almost always in a grumpy mood unless he had received some sort of special treatment. He clipped her fingers and she petted him, and grabbed the post from his beak.

With shaky hands she tore open the piece of parchment, it was a letter from her friend Janice who was on holidays in Russia.

She opened the sealed parchment to reveal a postcard, a letter and an array of images. The photograph produced a smiling Janice (a lanky, dark-haired girl who was immensely shy), with her arms wrapped tightly around her father who wore a grin that rivalled the Cheshire Cat. He was equally lanky, with a mop of greasy brown hair and sported squared spectacles. Betty read the letter and smiled as she went through the lines.

Dear Betty,

It's freezing here in Russia but I'm dead pleased. Dad got us to visit the Winter Palace and I took a neat photo from the roof, such a splendid view! ( I've enclosed it to you in the envelope.)

I heard that Rita Skeeter is invited to your mum's party – is it true? Lucky, I'd have killed to meet her in person. I wrote an article in a competition she hosted with a bunch of other journalists and I came in second place, but she hasn't sent me a letter of personal congratulations – I bet she's busy and must have forgotten or something.

Besides, are you meeting me in Diagon Alley soon? If not, I'll see you on Platform nine and a three quarters. Hope you're enjoying your summer!

Janice

Betty frowned at the mention of Rita Skeeter and rummaged through the envelope, and held a pile of photographs Janice had produced and a copy of the article she wrote that had placed second.

Betty snorted and disliked the infamous journalist even more with a passion. She shoved her friend's letter in a drawer, and studied the front page of the Daily Prophet with a vague dislike and mild interest. A mass murderer had escaped Askaban and Betty frowned at the haunted eyes of the man, and was frightened by his rugged appearance.

Her brows creased as she skimmed through the article, and she threw the paper in a nearby bin. She heard the front door slam and the clack of heels, and Betty sighed and massaged her temples in frustration.

She shuffled down the flight of stairs and entered the hallway, heaving the lolled figure of her drunk mother.

"Was' up frowny face? Lesse get ready to partay…" slurred Melantha, an empty glass of wine in one hand and a purse clutched in another.

"C'mon, let's get you to sleep." Betty ordered, directing her mother into the small and cosy living room.

"I don't wanna go to beddybyesie," Melantha protested, and limped reluctantly to the couch as she walked with one crimson high-heel on. She had attended a party with her friends during the previous evening.

Betty was very close to her mother, but sometimes she was lost in space and a hot mess – it often took Betty to clean all up and sort Melantha out.

She clutched a blue blanket and covered her dishevelled mother with it in an attempt to make her warmer and more comfortable – her mother was a raven beauty, party-animal and notorious reporter for the Daily Prophet who always seemed to receive the latest gossip before anyone else. But right now her luscious locks were a tangled disaster, her clothes were crumpled and there were dark circles under her tired eyes, she slept on her front and emitted loud snores as one arm hung limply across the end portion of the sofa.

Groping for air and switching on the dim lamp of the cramped kitchen, Betty yawned and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice for herself, and drank it as she sat herself on the kitchen counter in her pyjamas. The clock ticked away, and Betty swigged the whole glass of juice when a stranger knocked on the front door in the dead of night.

It wasn't a stranger who Betty greeted at the door (after checking of course), but it was Nicholas Hornby – one of many of Melantha's estranged lovers that would often come and go. He grinned sheepishly when Betty did not return the polite smile he had offered and she frowned, unimpressed.

"Is Mel here? I need to talk about earlier," he asked, and looked over Betty's shoulder as if he had expected her mother to come and bound towards him and embrace him in a bear-hug.

"Be my guest, you haven't seen her in a temper…have you?" she retorted, she had this all planned out and did not want anybody upsetting her mother right now in her state.

"No, should I come tomorrow?" he asked, picking at the hem of his pin-stripped shirt and adjusted his round glasses. Poor guy, he looked decent for a change, but frankly Betty's mother was never a commitment sort of witch.

"Save yourself the heart-break and leave. Please." She practically begged, not waiting for an answer and slammed the door in the man's face. She peeked through the mail-box and spotted his slouched figure stalk away.

She growled, and stomped up the stairs in anger. She had learnt after many years, that there was no point in expecting a father at any point in her life – it was an useless prospect, and Betty ignored any boyfriend her mother was currently dating, it didn't matter – they'd be dumped within two weeks or less.

Betty stopped to care.

A/N: Okay so she's not some abused teenager, or depressed or anything. Betty's a complex character, but I hope she hasn't given the impression of a Sympathy Sue. I'll be updating soon, since I have a week of school because it's Halloween.


End file.
